


Show Me What You're Made Of

by pterodactylichexameter



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking Games, F/M, Humor, Strip Tease, Truth or Dare, nessian smut week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterodactylichexameter/pseuds/pterodactylichexameter
Summary: Nessian smut week prompt: Strip tease.
"Now, Cassian, give her a lap dance.”Cassian chokes on his whiskey and Nesta’s jaw drops. “What?” she says, not even sure if she heard right, because the last thing she wants is Cassian of all people. . .Even Amren chuckles at the chaos Mor has just unleashed into the room.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The song Mor puts on is [Cookie (R Kelly)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Op9Iy7yZts&index=2&list=PL3A11B1BAEEC12AFA). I would warn you that it's explicit but you probably already knew that. 
> 
> Big thanks to Lauren and Kaya for letting me scream about... everything to them (this fic related and otherwise)

They should really know by now that alcohol combined with the entire group always ends in shenanigans. All of them together without alcohol is one thing, pass around a handle of whiskey and Cassian and Rhys host an armwrestling tournament while Amren mixes cleaning products from under the sink and says it’s like “Russian Roulette, only with chemicals,” and Feyre and Mor start to choreograph a musical.

Throwing dares into the mix just. . . doesn’t make things any better.

Even Elain participates, flushed pink from her drink, eyes bright, as Cassian dares her, smirking, to take a shot of Everclear (she accepts, but Feyre shoves him around, growling that Elain isn’t bad at handling her alcohol but _holy fuck, Cassian_ and he pours light).

They’re all draped over every surface of Rhys’s living room, Amren lounging on the back of the couch like a cat and Feyre perched in Rhys’s lap.  Nesta and Cassian are arguing as usual from opposite sides of the room, and Mor is squished against Azriel’s side in one of the plush armchairs.

After Az has come back from the apartment down the hall at the behest of Rhys, asking the straight-laced middle age couple if they have any lube he could borrow (it’s an emergency), Mor takes another sip from her glass and gives Nesta a smirk that spells out all kinds of dangerous.

“Mor,” she just says, slow, a warning.

“Nesta,” Mor says, seriously, as if preparing to face a court and not her friend.

“Mor, I _said_ I wasn’t going to do any of this.” Dares aren’t her thing, she doesn’t _do_ dares.

“What if you didn’t have to _do_ anything exactly?”  Mor just says, pondering, and Nesta narrows her eyes, because she knows something is up.

“What’s the catch.”

Mor just shrugs. “You won’t have to do anything, just sit there,” she tries to placate, but Nesta shakes her head.

“I don’t trust you.”

“Come on, Nesta,” Elain says from next to her, nudging her a little, smiling.

Nesta gives her sister a glare, because they’re supposed to _have each other’s backs_.

And then Feyre joins in, reaching over to give Nesta a little shove. “You never know, maybe you’ll enjoy it,” she says, sing-song.

“Do you know what she’s going to do?” Nesta asks Feyre, who shakes her head.

Nesta looks back to Mor, who’s leaning over the coffee table, biting her lip and looking up at Nesta with the most hopeful expression she’s ever seen. Pathetic.

“I bet you won’t do it,” Cassian goads from the opposite chair and her eyes flash to him. He’s leaning back in the chair, legs sprawled and one knee bouncing, as if he just can’t sit still, and he has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face she’s ever seen.

“Fuck you, Cassian,” she says sweetly and takes another sip of her drink, setting it down before looking at Mor.  “I still don’t trust you.”

“You really just have to sit, I _promise_ ,” Mor repeats in earnest, and Nesta drums her fingers on her leg.

Surely it couldn’t be too horrible if she doesn’t have to do anything but sit. . .

“Fine,” she says, long drawn out, and she hasn’t even finished before Mor is hopping up from where she was sitting on the floor, eyes bright.

“Perfect. Now, Cassian, give her a lap dance.”

Cassian chokes on his whiskey and Nesta’s jaw drops. “What?” she says, not even sure if she heard right, because the last thing she wants is Cassian of all people. . .

Even Amren chuckles at the chaos Mor has just unleashed into the room.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Cassian asks, sitting up and wiping at the damp mark on his stomach where his glass had sloshed at his surprised jerk.

Mor looks over her shoulder. “You’d do it if I offered you half a dorito and fifty cents.”

Cassian contemplates this and then gives a nod because yes, yes he would.

“I am _not_ letting him give me a fucking lapdance,” Nesta demands, incredulous.

Mor pouts. “You promised, Nesta, don’t be a stick in the mud. You don’t even have to look at his face if you want, that’s the worst part of him anyway.”

Cassian protests at that, but she just shushes him.

“You did promise,” Feyre points out, lifting her hands when Nesta shoots her a glare.

Everyone in the room is watching her and _fuck_ , what is she supposed to say?  Nesta doesn’t do shit like this. She doesn’t, it’s just who she is. Feyre, maybe. Hell, even Elain might let someone do something like that (there’s no way she and Lucien haven’t fucked, she just _knows_ ). But her? Thank you very much, she will pass.

But on the other hand, Cassian is looking at her with this dumb grin on his face like he’s _won_ somehow, and that cannot happen. Because Cassian does not win when she has anything to say about it.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Of course you will,” Mor says, pleased, and leaves the room only to drag in a chair from the kitchen.

“Can’t I sit _here_?” Nesta grumbles, gesturing to the couch, but Lucien sitting next to her only lifts his brows and snarks something about “as much as he’d enjoy Cassian’s hulking body against his, he’d rather not.”

Giving a long, arduous groan to make sure that everyone knows how much she is _not_ going to enjoy this, she sits in the chair Mor positions in the open area between the couch and the tv, where _everyone can watch this happen_.

“Hold my drink,” Cassian says to Azriel, shoving his glass in his friend’s hand and rising, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

He walks towards her, but as Mor takes Nesta’s old seat, she exclaims for him to wait. Nesta crosses her arms, head cocked and an unamused expression on her face. She’s not quite tipsy but she can feel the weight of the two drinks she’s had resting heavy in her stomach, warming her cheeks.

She knows Cassian can hold his alcohol and it’s not like she’s been paying attention to him, but she knows he’s only had a few drinks so far, and if anything, he’s barely tipsy.

“I need to find a song,” Mor explains, scrolling through her phone intently.

Nesta groans. Knowing Mor, she’ll play exactly the kind of thing that Nesta doesn’t want to listen to while Cassian is shoving his muscles in her face.

“I feel like we’re at a bachelorette party,” Elain murmurs to Lucien and they both laugh a little at that.

“Also Cass, you should take off your clothes,” Mor says absently and even Az laughs, amused.

“You want me to _strip_?” he asks, eyebrows shooting up, and from where she’s lying across the back of the couch, observing, Amren speaks up.

“That’s the understanding, yes.”

Mor starts laughing before she even puts the song on, as if she knows how people are going to react to it, turning the volume all the way up. And sure enough, as soon as the vocals start, it’s all sexually explicit vulgarity and Nesta lets out an arduous groan.

“Are you ready, Sweetheart?” Cassian asks, but then seems to think better of himself, and reaches to take his glass from Azriel, downing the rest of it in one go.

Nesta scoffs over the opening. “Is that really necessary?”

“You can bet your ass it’s necessary where you’re concerned,” he says, but the rest of the group is starting to get antsy.

“Stop _stalling_ , Cassian,” Rhys says, laughing, ignoring the rude gesture his friend gives in reply.

Cassian is still laughing, grinning and shaking his head when he toys with the hem of his shirt, sauntering towards her, all male confidence and bravado.  “Are you going to ask me for it, Sweetheart?”

“Take off your fucking shirt before I kick you in the balls,” Nesta growls and Cassian only laughs again.  He bites his lip, smirking, and runs his hands up his body, over his chest to grab his shirt, pulling it over his head by the collar.

Nesta keeps her face deadpan, ignoring the way the movement ruffles his already messy hair, and his golden tan shoulders and chest are--if it’s even possible--broader than the last time she saw them.

Mor whistles from the background, Rhys and Feyre hooting, even Azriel shaking his head and biting back a smile.

“Like what you see, Sweetheart?” he asks, moving into her space just before turning and looking at her over his shoulder, shaking his hips.

That earns more than a few laughs from the rest of them and Nesta lets out an embarrassed groan because _this man_.  What the fuck is she going to do with him.

He moves a little to the music, looking absolutely ridiculous. Cassian is never one to be ashamed of looking like an idiot, she has to give him that.

Nesta’s eyes catch on the black tattoos cutting over his shoulders, down his spine. If he can’t see her looking, then there’s no shame in. . . admiring.

But when he turns around, bracing himself on the back of the chair over her shoulders to straddle her lap, her smile fades into wide-eyed surprise.

He’s grinning down a her, smug and laughing, and grinds down on her in time with the pulse of the music, holding himself high enough that he doesn’t crush her, hips only nudging into hers.  And even _she_ can’t hold back a smile when he throws his head back, overly dramatic, only encouraged with the laughter around them.

Halfway through the song, the moment she realizes the lyrics are talking about going down on a girl, Cassian leans in, hair brushing her cheek, and presses a kiss to the column of her throat. And despite herself, despite what an idiot he is, heat floods between her thighs at the slow pressure of his lips. She swallows hard when his tongue dips out to taste her skin.

_Fuck_ , this shouldn’t. . . It’s just a fucking _parody_ of a strip tease. It shouldn’t be actually turning her on.

His hand finds hers, and she feels him smirking against her skin as he guides her palm up to rest on his bare waist, skin hot and firm under her fingers.

It’s just unfair, really, that she’s getting this worked up. What’s worse is that she knows if it were some random guy with muscles and a nice smile, she’d be bored by now. But Cassian. . .

Nesta bites the inside of her cheek, trying to pay attention to something--anything--else.  Behind  the solid wall of Cassian’s torso, Mor and Feyre are whining about not being able to see anything, Rhys only roaring with laughter.

She would have looked at them, would have rolled her eyes and shared a look with Elain, but all she can see is the broad expanse of Cassian’s chest, the swells and dips of his abdomen, the dark trail of hair leading below his belt.

He smells like whiskey and deodorant and shampoo, and she can _feel_ the heat radiating off of his skin, can feel his breath hot against her neck.

Cassian is looking at her differently when he draws back, eyes darker, even through his grin, and he lifts up slightly to reach for his belt, holding her eyes as he jerks it through the buckle, letting it clink as it falls.

“Would you like to do the honors?” he asks, smirking, nodding down at the button of his jeans.

Nesta huffs and withdraws her hand from his waist, pressing her thighs together because she _isn’t_ going to admit that this is doing anything for her. Damn body betraying her just because fucking _Cassian_ is rolling his hips into hers and he smells good and she wants to run her hands through his hair and dig her nails into his back and--

“Next time, maybe, Sweetheart,” he says with a wink and pops the button himself, rising from her lap entirely.

The music is still going, and she hears a passing lyric, something about being strong enough to hoist her up to “eat that against the door.” He must see her expression, because his smirk widens. He’s looking down at her, head cocked, and it takes every inch of self control she has not to glance down where his pants are hanging low on his hips, belt undone, zipper half down.  “Would you like that? If I ate you out against the wall?”

Nesta hisses, trying to frown, but then he’s pulling his belt from its loops, biting his lip through his smile. And she really, truly can’t help herself, gaze dropping to the open front of his jeans, where the hair trailing down the flat stretch of his stomach dips into the band of his underwear, and fuck, they’re tight. Not loose boxers, but they’re black and fitted and she can see the top of the bulge that--

She jerks slightly when he leans forwards to brace his hands on her knees, hands smoothing up her thighs. She can feel the heat of them through her leggings and wonders for longer than she should about what they would feel like against her bare skin, sliding up to the crease of her hips, trailing into her panties. . .

He ducks closer and suddenly drags her forwards to the edge of the chair in one swift tug, parting her thighs around his body. “Cassian--” she hisses, but then he’s leaning in again, kissing the side of her neck he hadn’t before and she has to take a breath, and--

It’s only then that she realizes the song is fading at the end, the room filled with chuckles, Mor flat out crying with laughter, doubled over and wiping her eyes.

Cassian pulls off of her, rising and when he turns, she shamelessly drinks in the view of his back, his jeans hanging low enough she can see the waistband of his underwear, the two dimples just above it.  

For a moment she doesn’t care that they fight each other tooth and nail. That if they chose to go down that road, it’d prove all sorts of trouble. She just wants to have his idiot smirking face kissing down her throat, over her breasts (there’s no denying he doesn’t enjoy them, she sees the way he looks at them when he thinks she isn’t watching), have his stubble scraping against her inner thighs.

He runs his hand back through his hair which just. . . does all kinds of things for her she’s not prepared to deal with.

“Your turn, Sweetheart,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

Nesta scoffs and hopes she’s not too red in the face as she stands, shoving him a little as she passes him to squeeze back onto the couch next to Mor. “Ask me after I’ve had another drink.” He doesn’t even start doing up his pants again, just _stands there_ , hands on his hips, looking down at her, pausing slightly at her answer.

She’s not even drunk, just tipsy, but it’s hard to ignore, between the alcohol warmth of her blood in her veins and the way he’s looking at her, like he wants to hoist her up against the nearest wall and have her heels digging into his backside, she’s a veritable mess.

She knows their friends are talking around them, laughing and already deciding who’s going to give who the next dare, but all she can see is Cassian standing there. He reaches for her empty glass sitting on the coffee table and pours her the smallest sliver of whiskey that barely even counts as a drink. . . and hands it back to her. A dare in itself.

She downs it in one go, setting it on the table, waiting for the question she knows is coming.

“Well?”

She rises again, holding his gaze as she circles the coffee table to him. She has to stand on her toes to reach his ear and even then, he ducks slightly, bracing one hand on her hip.

He smells indecently good, heat radiating out from him, hair brushing her cheek, that she lingers for a moment before answering.

“Cassian?”

“Yes, Sweetheart?”

“You get to see my tits over my cold, dead body.”

Mor only howls with laughter and when he draws away, laughing, shaking his head, she gives a shrug as if to say, what else should he expect?

But then everyone is moving on to Lucien suggesting that Rhys streak down the hallway, Cassian throwing himself back into his chair, apparently just going to sit there shirtless. So Nesta sinks back into the couch next to Mor and lets herself enjoy the view.

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me in my trashcan on [tumblr](http://pterodactylichexameter.tumblr.com) and please comment!


End file.
